


First Words

by Saraste



Series: Tolkien Fic Week [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Fluff, I did get the khûzdul right... right?, Kid Fic, M/M, Tolkien Fic Week, shirehusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Bilbo and Thorin's child utters their first word. Twice.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Tolkien Fic Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757257
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	First Words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tolkien Fic Week, Day 5: first words.
> 
> This is pure self-indulgent family fluff. Hobbits grow in the ground, dwarves are carved from stone... yet these two still managed to produce offspring. TADAH!

‘No!’

This was the first of many first words which their fauntling, whom Thorin heartachingly fondly called their pebble or _pebbling_ , was to utter, sitting on a hand-carved high-chair in the kitchen of Bag End, attempting breakfast. Bilbo Baggins was not at all surprised. He himself had enough Took in him to be a little stubborn at times, but the way in which their wee fauntling had said “no” was all Thorin in its royal immovability and authority. Here was the apple of Bilbo’s eye, the gem of Thorin’s thoughts, and they were not going to budge and inch until they were granted their own will. Which was to _not_ eat the bowl of porridge Bilbo had prepared for them.

Bilbo girded his loins, as it were, and gave their stubborn progeny his most fierce and stern not-taking-no-for-an-answer look, trying to appear Thorin’ish.

They were not impressed, but waved their wooden spoon imperiously at him and raised their voice again in another firm and loud: ‘No!’

It was quite impressive, making the simple (by the standards of some, what it was in truth, was a homely kitchen, a cosy one at that, and the heart and centre of Bag End, their home, once again the place where a faunt grew and happiness resided, as impossible as that might have seemed to some) kitchen seem like the grandest hall in Erebor, which their fauntling had never seen. Might never get to, things being as they were.

‘Well,’ Bilbo said, ‘that’s all well and good, and it’s fine that you know your own mind, but you’re still going to eat all of that nice porridge, so that you’ll grow big and strong.’

He grinned in what he hoped was an encouraging way, but feared might come off as cajoling, which was what he was doing, but the fauntling didn’t need to know, lest their stubbornness multiply through suspicion. Then he struck good soil, as there was one parent their fauntling always obeyed, and that wasn't him. ‘Don’t you want to be big and strong, like _adad_?’

There was a moment of thought, involving some crunching up of facial features that was quite adorable during, which a glob of steadily congealing, cooling porridge splattered onto the oak-wood table-top from the spoon. It made Bilbo want to fetch a cleaning rag, but this battle of wills was far more important than any small untidiness, which was an unavoidable part and parcel of having a growing wee thing in the home. A growing little fauntling-pebble who was a perfect blend of both their parents with Thorin's dark hair and blue eyes but Bilbo's slighter stature and curls, a child of stone and good fertile Shire soil, absolutely adored by both parents. And spoiled rotten by all relatives except the Sackville-Bagginses.

‘…no… ‘came a little less certain, this time.

Bilbo couldn’t help himself, but held their fauntlings plump little cheeks between his palms and pressed a wet kiss to their forehead that had them squirming and giggling all in one go. This, of course, delighted Bilbo to no end, and he gave another kiss to the top of their fauntling’s head among his dark curls. The uneaten porridge lay all but forgotten.

So preoccupied was Bilbo, as well, that he didn’t hear the soft tread of his beloved husband’s socked feet padding into the kitchen.

‘What is this? Silliness instead of a good hearty breakfast?’

Bilbo turned to face him, nearly getting a pudgy, flailing arm in the cheek and the wooden spoon in the eye. At the same moment…

‘Adaaa!’

Bilbo felt his eyes grow wide as his mother’s best big willow-patterned dinner plates, saw the big smile spreading across Thorin’s face, shocked, but undeniably present. His husband was beside them in a few swift strides around the table. He was positively brimming with excitement.

‘… did they say _adad_?’ Thorin sounded like he was choking on all the emotion he felt.

Bilbo let his hand wind around what was approximately Thorin’s middle. ‘They did,’ he said, not telling there and then that it wasn’t their fauntling’s first word, because Thorin deserved to have this. It could wait. And would, as Thorin swept up their fauntling into his arms, murmuring to them in Khûzdul as he bussed bearded kisses all along their giggle-reddened face, creating yet another precious memory neither of them had dared ever dream of being part of.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've read a nwalin fic (but which one?) where pebblings are only choosing pronouns when they reach their majority, which I used here.
> 
> Also, I just couldn't come up with a name for their fauntling-pebbling, their precious wee dwobbit. A nature name? A dwarwish name? WHAT? (You can all thank me for not naming them Frerin, as that would have hurt so badly.)


End file.
